


this is forever, maybe

by palladium



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3408704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palladium/pseuds/palladium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny says - "Gym." But they went yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that - so naturally, Kaner glares at him and reaches for the healthy crisp-things Johnny and him bought last week that are basically healthy chips, just to prove how against it he is. Johnny grabs the bag out of his hands, though, and throws it back onto the counter. "Gym. <i>Now</i>, Kaner."</p>
<p>"You're such a freak," Kaner says. "Who says I have to come? If you're so obsessed with your body looking good even in the off-season, that's your problem, man. Not mine."</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is forever, maybe

"Ow, fuck," Kaner says with meaning, immediately trying to shove Johnny off of him. The sun's literally in his eyes, because it's a dick, goddamn, and Johnny's not letting him fucking move. Kaner pushes at Johnny's arms, which, okay, he appreciates them - who wouldn't - but these are probably the only moments in which Kaner's unbelievably pissed off that Johnny's arms are actually bricks and heavy as fuck. "Let go, Jesus," Kaner breathes, but Johnny's groaning into his hair, unfazed. Kaner finally manages, and he's pretty sure his whole face is burnt by the time he does.

He stalks to the bathroom and grimaces at his shirt, wet with what's probably sweat and Johnny's come. Or maybe his own. Either way it sucks and it's gross. He takes it off and throws it in the basket and showers.

It's not exactly a long time he takes in the bathroom, what with washing his face, brushing his teeth, taking a quick shower and all; but when he comes back out, the sun is spreading wide over the span of Johnny's back, and Johnny's laid starfish on his stomach like he doesn't give a fuck. How does he even fucking live, it's a wonder, Kaner thinks as he watches Johnny scratch his back, causing his shirt to scrunch up and oh, there's Johnny's tanned skin.

"Get up," Kaner says, shoving him. Johnny really doesn't need to get any more tanned than he already is - and it's not like Kaner's jealous. He's perfectly fine with being pale. Who the fuck wants to look like they went to Brazil and missed their flight to come back but then returns with the perfect tan, anyway. And Kaner would rather have Beyonce's golden skin look, or Jay-Z's au naturel, than Johnny's stupid perfectly burnt skin. Kaner swears he should, like, forbid Johnny to go out in the sun, ever, because Johnny might become the next Beyonce and Kaner really would rather not have a boyfriend who's a wannabe, thank you very much. He much prefers the dumb, Canadian, hockey star he is, instead. So he tries harder: "Get  _up_ , Johnny, come on. You're like toast burning on a pan."

"Fuck off," Johnny groans into the pillow. And fine. Be that way, Kaner thinks. He's going to gather all the unhealthy foods he can find - not that he'll find many, though, it's  _Johnny's_  apartment - and then blend it into a smoothie and force-feed it to Johnny once he wakes up. If he asks what it is, Kaner will say it's a protein shake.

Kaner tries hanging one of Johnny's hoodies over the curtain railing, in hopes that it'll help a little blocking the sun - and it does, so whoop. Johnny scratches his back again, and Kaner really should be grimacing instead of totally finding it semi-endearing. He pulls Johnny's shirt down and leaves the room.

Kaner's not exactly going to make a diabolical protein shake made of leftover Thai takeout and marinara or whatever other condiments Johnny has in his fridge, but he is going to make breakfast that Johnny's totally not getting any of. He ends up making egg whites and whole-wheat toast, but then frying two slices of Canadian bacon just to piss Johnny off. He makes coffee, too, and Johnny is lucky to have him, seriously.

Johnny's still not awake, though, when Kaner checks on him, but the hoodie he put up fell and Johnny's shirt is ridden up again. It's like waking a child up for school, fucking Christ. Kaner climbs on the bed and straddles Johnny's legs, then wiggles his fingers on the patch of naked skin. Johnny grumbles, rolls over and Kaner almost falls off. "Jesus, wake up. I made breakfast. How are you even an adult?" Johnny pulls the blanket over his head, even though the sun is literally shining into his eyes, what a freak. Kaner's not even going to put the hoodie up again; Johnny can burn like toast for all he cares.

+

Kaner ends up napping on the couch - away from the wrath of the sun - after he eats his breakfast. His phone says nine-forty-two when he drifts off, so he decides it's fair.

He wakes up to Johnny hovering above him, coffee in one hand and a plate of his breakfast in the other. "Hey," he says, his voice soft. He looks weary, and maybe half-smiling.

"Hi," Kaner says back. His voice is grainy with sleep. He rubs his eyes. "What time 's it?" Then, "you're awake?"

"It's eleven, and yes, I'm awake."

Kaner sits up and glares at him, but Johnny's not even looking; just sits down on the space Kaner left. He sits like a douchebag sometimes, too, Kaner thinks; his legs spread wide and taking up so much more space than necessary, and his arms resting on his thighs, plate dangling in-between his legs. Like, Kaner sits like that, too, but, not like  _that_  also. He's a bit more modest and keeps a reasonable, acceptable distance between his two legs. It's one thing to sit with your legs open, and another thing to sit like a fucking octopus. And Johnny's not even  _an_  octopus, he's more like, eight of them in a row. Imagine that; eight octopuses and eight legs each - that's sixty-four legs.  _That's_  how much space Johnny takes up when he sits like that, and half of his body always has to be touching Kaner in some way. Kaner rolls his eyes. "Why are you sitting here? What do you need two couches for, then, asshole?"

"Shut the fuck up," Johnny says, pressing his thigh into Kaner's knee beside him. Then he drinks his coffee, swallows it down, and leans in to kiss Kaner. "I can't believe you made bacon."

Kaner rolls his eyes. "Like you're complaining." But that's what he was aiming for, originally, anyway. "And whatever; it's  _Canadian_  bacon, you dick, suck it up. Even I ate it."

"You'd eat any kind of bacon, though," Johnny points out, and okay. That's true, but that's totally beside the point.

"Fuck off," Kaner mumbles. He kind of wants to go back to sleep. "Eat your food, Toews."

Johnny sets his coffee down on the table, and hums, stuffing toast and egg white into his mouth and then a little bit of bacon, too, hesitantly. Kaner kicks his knee and steals his coffee.

+

Around twelve, after the dishes are clean and Kaner's had about three cups of coffee and Johnny's managed to lick the taste of out his mouth, Johnny says - "Gym." But they went yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that - so naturally, Kaner glares at him and reaches for the healthy crisp-things Johnny and him bought last week that are basically healthy chips, just to prove how against it he is. Johnny grabs the bag out of his hands, though, and throws it back onto the counter. "Gym.  _N_ _ow_ , Kaner."

"You're such a freak," Kaner says. "Who says I have to come? If you're so obsessed with your body looking good even in the off-season, that's your problem, man. Not mine. Also, we only had, like,  _one_  slice of bacon each.  _Canadian_  bacon." But Johnny rolls his eyes and hauls him up over his shoulder and Kaner doesn't ever have a choice, not really. "Ugh, let me down, you asshole - okay, I'll go, I'm going!" Johnny doesn't listen, though, and even supervises as Kaner changes. He says it's just to make sure Kaner's not going to, like, climb back in bed. "Yeah, right," Kaner scoffs. "You just love seeing me naked." And Johnny shrugs: "So what if I do?"

They work out for two and a half hours, because Johnny felt like being 'kind' today - "you wanna get back on the treadmill? Do it, then, I'm not stopping you. Say that again, Kaner." And Kaner swears Johnny's actually crazy - or just crazy in love with Kaner, which he says to Johnny and laughs. Johnny rolls his eyes but shoves him into the wall in the empty locker room and kisses him.

+

"Sharpy says, 'dinner at seven tonight. Bbq with the boys. Bring beer'." Johnny says, while Kaner stares down at his own text from Sharpy that says: 'w/e. Toes knows what's up.' And how is he a father of two children, Kaner will never understand. "You wanna?" Johnny asks.

Kaner shrugs. "Only in it for Maddy and Sadie."

"We're gonna have to bring shitty beer, though," Johnny says, and Kaner thinks, well duh, like they're going to give Sharpy  _good_  beer, but then Johnny adds: "Because that's all we have," and then pointedly looks at Kaner.

"Oh, fuck off," Kaner says. "Like smacking the word 'Canadian' on any beer will magically make it better, asshole."

"No, but putting 'American' on any beer makes it worse."

Kaner hates Johnny for being so Canadian all the goddamn time. "Ugh, whatever, 'I'm Canadian and automatically better than everyone else'." Johnny laughs and Kaner leans in to kiss him and climb on his lap.

Kaner ends up getting blown, and Johnny is fucking  _God_  at it, and that's one spelling mistake Kaner wouldn't correct - God or good, same deal. Especially not when Johnny licks the underside of his dick and presses his fingers into Kaner's hole, and Kaner wants to scream in frustration because Johnny always has the power to make him come embarrassingly quick, like he's fifteen all over again. And Johnny will say: "you weren't having sex when you were fifteen," which, true, but that was Kaner's choice - "no, it wasn't," he can hear Johnny saying in his head, and whatever. So what if Kaner was a virgin until he turned nineteen? Who cares, even. But Johnny will, because he's a freak and he secretly wants to be the only guy to have ever blown Kaner - and okay, that's kind of hot.

Johnny's cheeks hollow, and Kaner can feel his fucking  _throat_ ,  _and_ his fingers inside him - and he's done. Five minutes. He's so fucking easy, Jesus Christ. "Stop fucking tightening up on my finger," Johnny says, once he swallows, and Kaner whines. 

"I'm sorry I can't control how my body instinctively reacts when I've just had a fucking  _orgasm_ ," Kaner says back. He closes his eyes, bites his lip to stop sounding needy, but Johnny presses deeper, at the right angle, and Kaner gasps. Johnny's relentless; pushing with little tiny movements and then pulling out all the way to fuck it back in. Somewhere in there, he twists a third in, then a fourth - and Kaner's halfway hard again but Johnny's still not  _fucking_  him yet. "Hurry up, what the fuck are you waiting for," he babbles, swallows a groan down and presses his face into the couch.

"Permission," Johnny says, like a dick, and he  _shrugs_ , exaggerating the movement enough that Kaner feels the shift in his fingers. The sound it makes is obscene, too, because Johnny has a problem with using more lube than necessary - and Kaner pushes his hips down, chasing the press of Johnny's fingers.

Kaner gasps when Johnny fucks him earnestly, literally, four fingers like it's nothing and knowing him, he's going to press a fifth one in if Kaner doesn't actually comply. So Kaner says, " _fuck_ , okay, go - fuck me,  _Jesus_ , Johnny, you fucking dick,  _please_  - "

And Kaner doesn't keep a journal where he writes poetic metaphors and rainbows about Johnny's dick, but  _fuck_. He could have Johnny's dick in him forever, if that was like, possible. Not that he's ever going to say that out loud. But it's not just about Johnny's dick, of course; he could have  _Johnny_  forever, his dick and his stupid tanned skin and his fucking health-freak-self - if that was possible. His monotone and his half-smiles and shitty, Canadian bacon and beer likewise. But for now, Kaner opens his eyes and Johnny's fucking concentrated on fucking him into the couch, but he looks back, and he looks - like everything Kaner's ever fucking  _wanted_ , and Kaner pulls him down and kisses him.

+

"Oh my god," Sharpy says when he opens the door. Kaner's carrying a case of Miller in one hand and Pabst in the other, and they're not heavy, but he would rather not be carrying them. Sharpy keeps grimacing at them, though, and Kaner doesn't understand how Johnny's able to carry two full bags of food and not punching Sharpy in the face for not letting them in yet. "Did you guys have sex before you came - no. Let me rephrase that: before you  _arrived_  here?" Kaner snorts.

"No," Johnny says, and shoves his way in. Sharpy mimes throwing up. Kaner rolls his eyes at him. Shooter comes from the corner and starts sniffing at the beer, and Kaner holds it away for him, like, "no, Shooter, you stick to water," the same time Johnny says, "I think you'd better stick to water than drink MGD and Blue Ribbon, buddy."

"So where are my favourite girls?" Kaner says, just as Maddy waddles in, and Kaner immediately lights up and bends down to pick her up. "There you are," he says, and Sharpy's frowning when Maddy grabs at Kaner's curls, giggling excitedly. "Miss me, Mads?"

"Stop stealing my daughter," he says, but Abby comes in carrying Sadie, and Sharpy takes her instead. "At least Sadie is sane enough to not stick to you." But Kaner waves at Sadie with his free hand, and Sadie makes grabby hands at him. "Hey," Sharpy says, offended by his own daughter. Abby laughs.

"The boys are outside in the patio," she says. "Thanks for picking up some stuff on your way here. I'll take care of it, you three go outside." Sharpy steals back Maddy from Kaner, just because he can, then sets her down and lets her run off. He gives Sadie back to Abby's spread arms. 

It's only six thirty, so it's still barely dark, and being outside in the patio is the perfect place. Most of the guys are there already, and Kaner hadn't realized that he kind of missed them until now. Shawzy jumps on him, yelling, "Kaner!" Kaner pets him. He's like, the human version of Shooter, or something.

Johnny's gone to talk to Seabs and Duncs and Crow and Saader, leaving Kaner alone with Shawzy. "How've you been, man," he says, and Shawzy just shrugs, loose and happy, half-full bottle of Molson Canadian in hand. Kaner glares at it because ew,  _Canadian_  beer.

"Good," Shawzy slurs. "You?"

Kaner takes a moment. He glances off at Johnny, who's opened a beer already and talking with just Seabs now. It's six, the sun's still out, but the atmosphere - or the shifting of the light and shadows when the trees sway - makes Johnny appear almost breathtaking. And - shit. The mind-journal of poetry about Johnny is back. Ugh, Kaner thinks, stupid caramel skin Johnny, but then Johnny laughs, his eyes crinkling up, and Kaner's so, so gone. 

He turns back to Shawzy, who's probably drunk but not dumb enough to realize, because he's smirking at Kaner. "I'm good, too," Kaner says, and he means every word.

+

It's eleven when they finally get home, Johnny driving since he'd been sober since nine, and Kaner's still a little buzzed. Johnny has to like, support his weight into the lobby, then into the elevator, and thank fucking God there's no one to see how embarrassing Kaner is right now.

"Johnny," he slurs, arms around Johnny like an octopus. "Jon," he says, "Johnny."

Johnny pushes  _22_. "What?"

Kaner doesn't answer. He's suddenly busy thinking about how the hell elevators work. Johnny's arm is warm and fucking  _heavy_  on his waist, though, and Kaner leans all the way into him. He turns his face into Johnny's neck. "Ow," he says. Johnny doesn't even ask why he's saying ow, just rolls his eyes, and Kaner wants to kiss him so bad.

They somehow manage to make it back into Johnny's room, after what seemed like twenty hours of Johnny fumbling with his keys and Kaner staring at his shoes thinking about how shoemakers are able to make shoes that fit people's feet like, perfectly.

The sun's down, now, finally, as Johnny makes Kaner lie down on the bed and Kaner stares out the window. Staring back at him is the skyline of his second favourite city; his second  _home_. Johnny helps him take his clothes off, but Kaner swats his hands away. "Fucking what?" Johnny says, then, "Jesus, do it yourself, then, if you're so capable right now." But then he continues helping Kaner anyway.

It's not the sun this time, but the light from their room that shines across Johnny's skin. Kaner watches as the shadows shift with every movement Johnny makes; how Johnny looks so fucking intense at taking Kaner's clothes off - and of course he would, Kaner thinks; and how the quirk of Johnny's eyebrow or the flicker of his eyes is so goddamn intriguing, looking at Kaner and then looking away, like he's checking on him even though Kaner's right  _there_ , Johnny's holding him; and above all -

How Kaner's never loved anyone else as much as Johnny.  _This_  much.  _This_  overwhelming. And  _fuck_.

He grabs Johnny's hands and rolls so that Johnny ends up lying right next to him and the light is shining right on both of them. It's blinding, it always is, but Kaner squints through it and hides his face in Johnny's shoulder. Johnny's hands feel a little bigger and rougher against his, and he tightens his hold, and Johnny tightens back.

"Johnny," he says, his voice sounding a lot more clearer now.

"What?"

Kaner looks up at him from Johnny's shoulder, smelling of sweat, beer, barbeque and cologne, and  _Jesus_ , Kaner loves him. "I love you. Fuck. I _love_ you. I want to like, make you eat my breakfast forever. And wake up next to you. And make you nap with me in the sun. And go to the gym sometimes. And eat Canadian bacon. And drink shitty beer, even if it's like, Molson Canadian or some shit. And like - " He kind of loses his track of thought, but Johnny's looking down at him like Kaner's everything he's ever wanted, and Kaner thinks the exact same back. "Forever." And it probably doesn't make sense as a conclusion, but Johnny's giving Kaner his stupid half-smile, then a full-smile, and then he's leaning down and kissing him and it's absolutely perfect. So. Whatever.

"Ditto," Johnny says, after a while. Kaner groans into his neck at that, and he feels the vibrations of Johnny's laugh. Jesus, Johnny's such a dick and Kaner  _loves_  him, what even, anyway. "Hey," Johnny says softly, "I love you, too." Kaner grins wide and happy at him, and Johnny smiles, looking like he's about ten seconds from saying something really fucking sappy. Instead, though, he just says, voice even more soft and so honestly  _genuine_ , fuck him: "I really do." And Kaner - wants to kiss him forever, maybe. So he does just that.

And if the next morning, Kaner wakes up half-naked, holding Johnny's hand and mostly buried in Johnny's chest so that he's blocked from the sun, it's just perfect. He closes his eyes and falls back asleep.


End file.
